Cirque du Freak The Dark Lord's Shadow
by thief-uchia
Summary: Gannen sees someone he never expected to see again. Both physically and mentally. Some spoilers for the last book. One shot. Gannen's POV.


Seeing that it's been a while, I decided to write another DS one-shot. Don't own.

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Summary: Gannen sees someone he never expected to see again. Or did he?

Warning: Spoilers for the last book, but not the ending of the book. This story is set before Darren changes his past.

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Gannen's POV

What a beautiful night.

The moon is hidden by the clouds. The atmosphere, cool with light drizzle, is filled with young couples' making out. I suppose that's the problem with the park now days. Funny, I haven't noticed it before. Perhaps I was too busy trying to recover from the War of Scars.

I'm sauntering through the park. My eyes glaze at those nearby, never staying for longer than a minute. My sharp eyesight makes out all their frenzied movements. I bite back a scorn. Surely there once was a time when I had dreamed of a girl with that same desperation as these children. Surely even I had been filled with lust as strong as blood-longing. Surely, there once was a time when I had been normal. Surely…

There is a slight breeze that fills my lungs with thoughts of the ocean. I've visited the ocean only three times in my long existence. The first was when I was still a human. When my life wasn't consumed with grief and Vancha and I were still together. We had been young, then. Too young to even realize what true pain is.

The second time was when we were turned. What a day that was! How the ocean's roar hid our screams of pain. How simple our life had been then! How sweet! How that salt-filled wind sank into my heart, burned into my memory. _Never forget us,_ they seemed to whisper, nipping at my skin, like a gentle lover. Our mentor, I will never forget, had smiled sadly, looking far into the ocean. Did he see our future, I wonder. Did he guess what will happen?

Last time I've ever visited the ocean, was with _him_. _He_ had been awed. Shocked, even, at the calm view of the ocean. _He_ had stared, _his_ mouth calm, _his_ eyes excited. And the ocean welcomed us. It danced softly, beginning a small orchestra, until the wind picked up and it turned angry. It began to hiss, to spit, to crash and to fall in that loud bellow I've remembered from my childhood. One of the worst storms of my life, and yet I had been calm, happy almost. I was near the ocean.

_Beautiful, he_ had said. _We should be like that._

I had agreed. How foolish it all feels now! How could I have not known what _he _had truly meant? How could I have believed _him_ to be innocent? How could I have thought that _he_ meant what I had believed? That calm, that soft, the mother of all life… How could I have expected _him_ to understand that? _He_ meant the dangers, the anger, the soft and swift strikes that claims all lives.

Everything thought seems to turn ludicrous now, as I walk under the street lamps. How easy it was to believe _him_. How easy it was to love _him_, for _his_ beauty, _his_ clever comments, _his _anger, _his _promises… so much that we began to forget who we were. Did we realize? Did we even mind? _He_ was our Lord. _He _represented everything we stood for us. _He _was us, and yet, wasn't. _He _was our everything, our hopes, our dreams, fears, and even love. Even hate.

I sigh softly, tilting my head towards the sky, almost as if to pray. (Ha! There's a thought! Pray to what? My long dead Lord?) The rain tickles my nose, and my warm body finally relaxes against the cold sprinkle. It feels like home, the rain. Something comforting, something to rely on. And my thoughts once again drift back to that man who's managed to kill us and save us at the same time. Am I missing _him_? I can't help but to wonder. _Him_ who dared to cast us to shame? _He_ who stood for us, against us? _He _who-

A slight ruffle catches my ears. The couples have long gone, and the park has been long empty. I look in fear of being found out. Do I have to leave again? Take shelter in my own territory?

I freeze. The cool drizzle soaks deep through my clothes, my skin, down to my bones. And a sudden chill overtakes me. It takes all I have to not scream. That can't be. This can't be. It must be a nightmare, born from _his_ thoughts. I have to wake up. Just wake up…

My sharp eyes make _him_ out in the slight fog. A slightly small figure with nice build. Somewhat a long light-colored hair, thrown behind _him_. _His_ face turned to face the clouds, _his_ unblinking blue eyes glaring with spite. There's that famous scowl of _his_, filling that once-beautiful face. _His_ clothing's dark, blending if not for _his_ pallor. The rain drips on _his_ cheeks as if tears are falling from _his_ eyes. (Ha! Imagine that, our Lord reduced to a weeping dame?)

It has to be _him_, our Lord, our hope. There can be no mistake. But _he_'s… _he's supposed to be dead!_

I have half a mind to run to _him_. To shield _him_ from the rain with my body. To protect _him_ from the cold. To make sure _he_ doesn't fall victim to another virus. But mostly, to make sure that _he_ is my Lord. But another half of me is repulsed. I want to run the other way. I need to get away from him, to save myself. But I can't move. The sight of _him_ freezes me to the ground, as my mind bicker. To run to _him_ or to run away…

But before I can make a move, _he _moves. _He _raises _his_ fists up to the sky. "Damn you!" _he_ screams. "Damn you!"

And I relax. It's not _him_. _He_ would never curse like that. _He_ would be more articulated. _He_ would be more dramatic, gathering an audience. _He_ would've cursed at me, not the sky.

I smile. What a silly Vampaneze I must be! I panicked of a mere shadow of my Lord? How weak have I become? How pathetic?

But then another thought comes to me. Who is this child that looks so much like my Lord? Who is he that made my heart flutter in fear? Who is he that dares to curse at the sky?

"Why did you do it?" the child continues, still screaming. "Why did you leave?"

_A family problem?_ I wonder. Should I go and talk to him? Should I calm him? But if he detect my skin color…

But my worries are for naught. The child stops screaming and drops his fists. I get the feeling that the continuous water rolling down his cheeks isn't rain. Perhaps I should hold him in my arms, in the memory of my Lord. Perhaps I should protect him from his fears. Perhaps I should be the brother that my Lord looked for in me. The one that failed his duty to protect, to love, to be there for the younger siblings. This feeling only intensifies as I watch his shoulders shake.

"Father," the child croaks.

Even my Vampaneze ears have to strain to hear his voice. The rain begins to pour now, covering his voice. But I'm sure I heard it. And I can watch this no longer. My mind takes me to the memory of a small boy with an awkward smile. Our Lord once had a son. And his name was…

"Darius."

The name's out before I can stop myself. But the child doesn't move. Not a single muscle twitch except for his trembling. He must be cold, that poor child. And I can watch this no longer. I take broad steps, and soon I'm standing next to him, towering over him. I block his view of the sky and the rain. His puffy eyes widen in surprise and horror, but swiftly changes to anger. So similar… too slow.

"Darius," I repeat.

I don't know why, but it is crucial that I said this name. And he frowns, his eyes unfocusing. He's trying to remember. Was three decades too long of a time? But then his eyes focus, and he jumps away from me. There's hate glowing in his eyes, his lips twisted in a sneer. His fists are by his side, defensive. He's ready to fight, but can he? That's the effect of this new era of peace has on children. They become unable to fight, become sheep for slaughter.

"How do you know me?" he demands, his voice cracking from his breakdown before.

He's a lot like my Lord, his father. I have half a mind to bow before him, like I had so long ago. But I resist. That is no longer my path. I no longer have to break my pride. He is not my Lord.

"Who are you?" he demands, trying to pry out some sort of answer from me.

I smile, holding back my laughter. How pathetic he looks, with his fists raised, demanding answers! But I answer. He has the right to know, if he cannot remember me. There's no harm in that. No harm in reminding him of the past.

"I am Gannen," I say.

His eyes are still blank, unrecognizing. But the hate doesn't weaver. "Let me guess, you're here to get revenge on what my father did to you," he snarls. "Well, I'll have you know, _Vampaneze_, that I fight better than my mentor."

Suddenly, nothing's funny any more. Revenge? Fight? But Evanna swore! No more fighting, we had all agreed, and Evanna swore to protect it!

"I do not need any revenge, nor do I believe that you can truly defeat your mentor."

He fumes, ready to bite. His father wasn't like that. His father would be calm, listening to the insults and fighting with his own.

"Nor," I add, "Do I believe that you have completely forgotten me."

He looks at me carefully, debating whether I'm trustworthy or not. His curiosity must have won, for he inclined his head to the side. "Explain," he demanded.

"I am Gannen."

"Yes, you've said that before," he answers, impatient.

"And I," I pause dramatically here, (something I've picked up from my Lord), "was your father's most trusted, most ridiculed, most beloved slave."

His eyes races through a storm of emotions, shock, horror, revolted, curious, disbelief… but his face is rigid harsh. Perhaps eyes are truly the windows to the soul. At least for everyone other than my Lord. _He_ would've been cold, _his_ eyes revealing nothing, _his_ body informing nothing.

"You…" the child stutters. "I… what do you know about the War of Scars?"

Now it's my turn to be baffled. "But you've lived through it yourself," I say, "surely you remember!"

He growls, stomping his feet angrily. He crosses his arms across his chest. "That's just it! I can't remember anything before three years ago!"

_Memory loss_?

"Would you like me to tell you, then?"

His eyes are wide, naive, desperate. "Do you swear to tell the truth?"

"And only the truth."

And I do. I tell him everything. His father, Evanna, Vancha, me, the brave band of Vampaneze who tried to achieve peace with Kurda, Mr. Tiny, everyone from the Cirque, Kurda, and, most importantly, the young Vampire Prince, Darren Shan himself. Finally, slowly, I come to the end. I'm mentally tired, but can't push away my pride, my anger, my relief. I have survived. The Demon was gone. My throat's tired, raspy, as I stop. My eyes, sorrowful. It has truly ended.

Darius's eyes are clouded, thoughtful, troubled. He does not ask me any question. He just slowly gathers himself and leaves without a second thought. And I stand alone at the park, glaring at the rising sun. The rain had long stopped, and I have to find shelter fast. I have survived the War of Scars, not to be defeated by the sun. And I, too, take my leave.

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Five nights later, I'm back at the park. It's a clear night tonight. A crescent smiles down at me, gently caressing me with its light. Small stars litter the sky, almost like faces in the distant…

The couples are back, making noises. I effortlessly ignore them. It's easier to turn blind eye to thing now, even to injustice. I drop on the park bench like stones, and stare up at the sky.

It's so peaceful here. There's no taste of evil here, none. Perhaps that's why I chose this place as my bailiwick. Perhaps it's because of the ninety percent chance of rain in the weather forecast. Whatever it is, I'm glad I chose this spot here. It is tranquil here, unruffled by the spoils of war.

A figure blocks my view of the sky. I don't have to think to remember him. It's Darius. He stands, trying to loom over me, like I did. I smile.

"Well, to what do I owe this surprise?"

His face is dark, not a single smile. But there's hope for him. I will not allow him to turn like his father. I will not allow another beautiful soul to be singed by hate.

"My father… he… what was he like?"

My smile melts. I motion for him to sit, as I think carefully. He's evil, I would've said three decades ago, when the war had ended. But there was more than that. More than evil. "A lot like you," I say, remembering. "He was very mysterious, powerful, too. He knew how to fight, how to win. He was stubborn, too. He would never admit defeat."

His nods, but his eyes are still troubled. I wait for him to ask me the question that's bothering him. And he does.

"Would… would I… end up like him?"

"You certainly have his hate," I admit.

He looks deflated, defeated. My Lord never had that look. _He_ always fought till the bitter end. _He_ believed in _himself_ to succeed.

"But… you don't have to end like him. You're not alone in this world, you know."

Because I'm here. I will protect this flower. I will not let another scar be carved onto his jarred heart. I will be the one person our Lord needed the most. I will be his brother, his family. Someone he can rely on.

And Darius smiles, relieved. Was that how I looked when my Lord was gone? So happy, so free? Was that what my Lord needed? Something or someone to cut him loose? Is this all that took to heal a crying heart?

Perhaps the era of peace is indeed bright. If all our children are this free, this accepting… Perhaps, just perhaps, this was what my Lord needed to become a benevolent leader. Perhaps…


End file.
